A

gnes, my child, being left in charge does not agree with you."

"Why, auntie?"

"Your mother will find but a shadow of the rosy girl she left behind her."

Agnes sighed, and then got up and looked in the glass.

"I do not see that I am different," she said, after a moment's contemplation.

"No, I daresay you would not notice it in yourself from day to day. But you have nothing special to trouble you, my dear, I hope?"

"Not at all, auntie. But I had no idea the anxiety of a family would be so great."

Aunt Phyllis smiled a sweet placid smile, which proceeded from a heart at rest after storms.

"You ought not to be carrying your own burdens though, dear child," she said softly.

Agnes had seated herself at her aunt's feet, on the wide stool which the children said was made on purpose for them to share, and now looked up in her aunt's face with tearful eyes.

"No," she said; "that is often what grieves me. I am afraid, auntie, I thought I should be sure to get on, and trusted in my own cleverness too much, and then when difficulties come I get downhearted."

"And do you try the remedy of taking everything to your Lord directly it comes?"

"Yes; but things are so difficult to decide, and I am so disappointed in myself."

"You thought you were so much stronger than you find yourself?"

"Yes; and John looks up to me, and I hoped I should be a help to him; and instead I've done nothing but find out that I'm no good at all."

"I suppose you are rather tired of gazing in the looking-glass, then?" said Aunt Phyllis quaintly.

"Auntie?"

"I'd look towards the sky next, if I were you!" she added, smiling, as she got up to go and fetch some work.

Agnes was left alone; and she glanced first in the fire, and then at the mirror above her head, and then her eyes wandered to the window.

"I see!" she exclaimed, a light breaking over her downcast face; "I'm to look off to Jesus; that's what auntie means!"

That morning Agnes had passed through some of those little difficulties which so often arise in daily life.

First the housemaid had accosted her with the ominous words, "Please, miss, could I speak to you?" and had thereupon given her a month's notice.

On her pressing for a reason the maid had said, with many blushes, that she was intending to be married directly her time was up.

"But can you not wait till mother comes home?" pleaded Agnes. "I trust she will be home in March; that would be only another month. Could you not arrange it so?"

But the girl persisted that she could not alter; and so Agnes had had reluctantly to make up her mind to a fresh responsibility, and determined to consult her Aunt Phyllis on the subject.

And while her mind was perturbed with the annoyance of having to install another servant in her mother's absence, came another small trouble.

Alice sauntered into the room with a book in her hand, and sat down on the hearthrug close to the fire.

"Alice dear," said Agnes looking up, "have you cleaned the bird's cage? It is the day for fresh sand."

"I did it yesterday," answered Alice absently, bending over her book.

"I think not," answered Agnes, "in fact I am sure of it; because, don't you remember, we all went out with Aunt Phyllis the moment after breakfast?"

"Then it was the day before."

"So it may have been; but mother likes new sand put every other day, without fail."

"I'll see to it presently," said Alice, a little frown just settling itself on her brows.

Agnes made no further remark, though she felt ruffled, and was sure Alice would forget after all.

Then John came in. "Agnes, Hugh and I want a fire in our room. As it's the last day of the holidays, we are going to have our long-deferred turn-out."

"Very well; but, John, don't you toss everything out on the landing for me to clear up."

"Is it likely?" asked he, surprised.

Agnes did not feel as if she could look up brightly in answer, so she turned to her desk and began to search for something.

"Lost something?" asked John, bending down and looking in her face.

"I don't know," she answered, detecting a significance in his kindly tone.

He kissed her and went off, and then Hugh walked in.

"Agnes, I want to know if you could find John and me a curtain to stretch across our large room?"

"Whatever for?"

"To divide it. John likes a place to himself; we want to make it into two rooms. It has two windows, and so we are going to make ourselves cosy."

"Oh, Hugh, I do not know of any curtain; I really think it will have to wait till mother comes."

"But we wanted to do it to-day. Don't you think you know of anything?"

She shook her head.

"Not an old table-cloth, or a couple of done-with window curtains?"

"I do not know in the least, and I should not like to search in mother's stores."

"She wouldn't mind."

"She might. Oh, Hugh dear, it must wait."

"Very well," answered Hugh, looking disappointed.

"Did John tell you to ask?" said Agnes.

"No, not exactly; he said he wished you could, but he was afraid it was too much bother."

"I am afraid I can't manage it," she answered regretfully.

All this time Alice's eyes had been raised from her book, as she was interested in the discussion, but as Hugh was turning to leave the room she took up her book again.

"I should think Alice would be glad to begin lessons," he observed, stopping short with his hand on the door.

There was a mischievous look in his eyes.

"I shall not," answered Alice.

"When are you to begin?"

"I don't know."

"To-morrow," answered Agnes.

"To-morrow?" echoed Alice; "I thought we should have holiday till they came back."

"What, nearly two months more to roast over the fire and read novels!" laughed Hugh.

"I don't read novels."

"Stories then."

"And I don't roast over the fire."

"What do you call this?" he asked, advancing to her and passing his hand down her shoulder. "My eye, Alice, you are next door to on fire!"

"I'm not! I wish you wouldn't come bothering. Hugh."

Having lodged his bombshell he departed, leaving Alice writhing under the certainty that now "beginning lessons" was put into Agnes's head nothing would get it out again.

"I am going in to Aunt Phyllis," said her sister, getting up and putting away her desk.

"I shall come too then," said Alice.

"Do not come just yet, dear, I want to talk to auntie."

"You're always talking to auntie, I think," grumbled Alice.

"Always?" asked Agnes, feeling as if that were the last worry, and she could not bear more.

"Well, not always; but, Agnes, I hope you will not let her persuade you to begin school with Minnie and me to-morrow because——"

"Well?" asked Agnes.

"I don't know exactly why, but it's horrid if you do, because I haven't had half enough time; and I never thought we should begin when the boys did."

"I never thought anything else," answered Agnes; and then she had gone in next door with a sense of utter failure.

And so Aunt Phyllis was right when she advised her to raise her eyes heavenward.